


Trust Me, I'm a Professional

by Soriing



Series: Together Again [5]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Body Sharing, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Post-Pacifist Route, Selectively Mute Frisk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-07
Updated: 2016-01-07
Packaged: 2018-05-12 11:55:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5665210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soriing/pseuds/Soriing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>... a professional fuck up, that is.</p><p>Chara's day doesn't end so well, despite the fun they were having with Frisk earlier.</p><p>Alternative title: I think I'm funny.<br/>Spoiler alert: I'm not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trust Me, I'm a Professional

**Author's Note:**

> Chara swears some more. A lot more.  
> And this time, you are Chara. Wash that filthy mouth of yours.
> 
> I'll warn you this was more for me, so if they're ooc, well, oops, right?

_“Chara, are you_ sure _this will work?”_ Frisk signs, the two of you ducked behind the stairs.

 

“Of course it will. I’ve done this _tons_ of times before,” you tell them. Technically this is true. You _have_ tried to sneak out at night before. Just not to meet friends, but that’s besides the point. You’ve just been caught almost every time when you were still alive- er, that is, when your body was still up and pumping blood. You just don’t tell Frisk. “Trust me.”

 

Frisk sighs through their nose, but stay where you directed them behind the stairs.

 

The stairs creak as someone walks down. You cross your ghostly fingers in hopes that it’s Asriel. At least then you can talk your way out of trouble. Frisk peeks their head out, trying to catch a glimpse of whoever could be walking around at this late of an hour. They practically slam their head back against the wall to conceal themselves again.

 

 _“This is a bad idea,”_ they frantically sign. They continuously sign “bad,” as if you didn’t see it already.

 

“Who is it?” you whisper, which you hope Frisk will forget because holy _fuck_ , did you really just whisper when they’re the only one that can hear you?

 

 _“Mom!”_ they sign, practically bouncing up and down from their awkwardly crouched position as they do so.

 

“Oh,” you say. Always a true poet with words. “Okay, uh, we’ll just have to go now, then.”

 

Frisk lets out an inaudible whine.

 

“Just go now! Now now now!” you say.

 

Frisk peers behind them and shuffles to the window by the end of the hall. They glance over their shoulder, conflicted look on their face.

 

“Just open the goddamn window while you can, Frisk!” you shout, dragging your hands nervously through your hair.

 

Frisk jumps a little at your sudden outburst. Oh well. Want something done, do it yourself. You take the reigns and open the window, the cool breeze rushing in startles you. You jump out, sneakers hitting the grass below them, before relinquishing the power back to Frisk. It’s kind of rude to just hijack their body from time to time, but how dare they take so long when this was their idea. Okay, so it was _your_ idea to sneak out at night, but they made you think of it.

 

 _“Should I leave the window open?”_ they sign. Right, reality. Real life, real decisions.

 

Shit. Should they? “Uh,” you let out. You should be given an award for your creativity. You're a legend.“Yes?”

 

Frisk’s eyes flash with a look Asriel gave you all the time.

 

It’s some mix of looks that you read along the lines of “you cannot be serious right now,” and “are you an idiot.” But you are, like, super serious and basically a genius. Okay, well you aren’t _technically_ a genius, and you find it getting harder and harder to be focused and super serious that you could swear Frisk’s laid-back-but-not-as-laid-back-as-that-certain-skeleton’s attitude was rubbing off on you, but still. You knew what you were doing. Probably.

 

“Yes,” you confirm, “leave it open.”

 

Frisk glances up at the open window and stalks through the yard before hauling the two of you over the neighbor’s wooden fence.

 

Walking down the sidewalk, you remember how nice and tranquil nighttime is sometimes.

 

Sometimes. You cringe at the memories of nights at your old house with your old parents and old everything else. You just hate old stuff, like that yogurt Frisk got at lunch in school last week that was _clearly_ past its expiration date. You furrow your brows because why the hell did Frisk even take a spoonful of that, and where were the FDA when they gave that cup of evil to Frisk?

 

You shake your head. Enough joyful reminiscing, you’re on a mission. A mission to visit that lonely sob-story that works for Mettaton™. Burgerpants, or something. Burgersomething. Why does Frisk have to be friends with everyone? Does Burgerguy really not get that much time off? How much does Burger Joe even make?? Is Joe even his name? Holy shit, maybe you are lucky. Sucker.

 

Frisk taps their shoulder, one of their surefire ways of pulling you from your thoughts that have next to nothing to do with what little plot is presented.

 

“What is it?” you ask.

 

“You’re thinking really... loudly,” Frisk says softly.

 

Thinking loudly? Then it dawns on you. You smack your forehead because _good lord you share a body_ which means that by extension you share thoughts too, right? Right. That, of course, takes priority over your initial thought of _"_ _oh crap oh crap oh crap how much did they hear can they hear me right now oh crap."_

 

“Sorry,” you mutter, face reddening.

 

“It’s fine,” they say. You can hear them laugh. In their mind. They’re mind-laughing- yeah, that’s it- they’re mind-laughing at you. No, that’s actually really stupid. You can just hear them laughing at you. Good naturedly, because it’s Frisk and Frisk is your best friend and if you keep analyzing the situation you _will_ jump off a mountain or roof again to stop yourself, _swear to god_ -

 

“You shouldn’t joke like that,” Frisk says. Shit. You kinda forgot. Already. You share a body, which by extension- you realize you don’t have to tell yourself this again.

 

“I’ll stop,” you say. It wasn't a joke. It’s more of a half-truth, because the day you stop thinking morbid thoughts about yourself and literally everything else that you come across is the day you’re not Chara, but you won’t force Frisk to suffer with it. Goddamn, you're edgy. You block your stream of thoughts from Frisk.

 

The familiar music of the Mettaton Hotel™, or MTTH™, fills your ears with ~~determination~~ mild disgust as you walk through the doors of the surface’s glitzier version of the hotel. As if it could get any more gaudy.

 

“It smells like grease,” you comment.

 

 _“Not really. Only near the restaurant,”_ they sign. You must have tired out their vocal chords with the shenanigans you’ve been up to tonight. Or maybe you’re just not worth the- stop. But you can't keep faking it. You're not okay, you're still a demon and everyone hates you-

 

Stop. Stop stop stop stop stop. Just _STOP_ . You tell yourself over and over again to just _stop_. If Frisk didn’t like you, they’d kick you out, right? They would tell you if they were tired of you, right? Right?

 

You retreat quietly into the back of their mind. Could they even kick you out, even if they really wanted to? Was it possible? You huddle up in the dark parts of Frisk’s mind, burying your face in your arms. Maybe you should leave. They’d be happier without you. After all, you forced them to sneak out tonight, didn't you? And in that other timeline...

 

You hear Frisk talking, but don’t register what they say. You’re sure that even Burgerpants is far better for Frisk than you are. They’re able to laugh together. When was the last time you laughed? _Actually_ laughed?

 

You don’t know how long you stay there, curled inside yourself. The scenery shifts and blurs together and you still sit alone in the dark because how does Frisk even put up with you after what you did?

 

Frisk tries to talk to you on the way home, but you drown it out. You keep your thoughts guarded and your mouth a tight line.

  
It’s not until Frisk falls asleep that you let yourself cry.

**Author's Note:**

> I'll see myself to the dumpster now.  
> Thanks for reading.
> 
> Edit: I can't believe this even has kudos. I mean, thank you, but what IS this fic? I'll tell you what it is- literal garbage that I /should/ delete, but I won't because why not leave it up to embarrass myself even further? I'll stop now.


End file.
